


Spiderman and the Nightcrawler: Into the Spiderverse

by sourcherrycordial



Series: Spiderman and the Nightcrawler [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Spidersona
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcherrycordial/pseuds/sourcherrycordial
Summary: In this iteration of Spiderman, we meet Quinn Feliciano: college junior and New York's one and only Spiderman; until, a tear in the fabric of space time sends them hurtling into a New York completely unlike their own.





	1. Disappearing Act

**Let’s take it from the top.  
One more time.  
My name is Quinn Feliciano.  
I was bitten by a radioactive spider on a trip to the zoo with my biology class. The only radioactive creature not currently deteriorating from exposure to severe atomic radioactivity.  
Besides bananas. Well, Cavendish bananas. The species of banana we have now are a hybrid species of banana that was created to keep bananas from completely dying out due to cellular rot and the inbreeding of the banana fruit. But this isn’t about bananas. At least not all of it.  
For four years, I’ve been the one and only Spiderman.**

Quinn closed their statistics textbook and slid out of bed to get to their bedroom door while they heard a very familiar, insistent knock on the other side of it. They opened the door and found their roommate reloading his 35-millimeter analog camera.

“Aw, crap. I forgot. I’m just finishing up my stats homework.”

“Take your time, take your time,” Gray waved them off and stepped in, then took a seat at their desk, “I’m just so excited!”

“You’re excited to come crime-watching with me until like, tomorrow morning?”

“So excited to come crime-watching with you until like, tomorrow morning that I got us a bottle of trucker pills.”

Quinn gave Gray a puzzled expression. “You know these ones were taken off the market because someone’s eyeball exploded like, right out of their head, right?”

“Well, yeah, but we’re healthy twenty-somethings!”

“The guy that happened to was twenty-six years old.”

Gray looked at the bottle and then groaned, rolling his eyes. “I feel so silly now.”

“Well, think of it this way. Now you know those specific caffeine pills will kill you, so you can avoid them next time.”

Gray shrugged. “Yeah. Guess so.” He tossed the caffeine pills in Quinn’s bedside trash can. “Would be cool to see time, though.” He mumbled.

“Where did you even get those?”

“Oh, uh… y’know. Around.”

“Please tell me you didn’t go to that place that’s like, ‘Dollar Discount Barrel’ or whatever.”

“… If I don’t tell you, does it still count for something?”

“No! Stop buying things from there! The last time you bought a dozen eggs on your way home they were so nasty someone called the cops on you because they thought we were storing a corpse.”

“Hey, if Mr. Nosey Bitch in 4C would stop getting preoccupied with my business, I would’ve figured it out on my own.”

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess.”

**This is my best friend Gray. Well, his name is Naris—Naris Yuvaves—but since our moms were neighbors and Naris was born, my mom always called him Narís. His mom nicknamed him Gray, and my mom just introduced me to him that way. He’s my nightcrawler.**

“Hopefully my camera doesn’t die like last time.” He laughed, remembering a more rudimentary time in his early start as a photojournalist. “I was screaming so loud the cops thought that I was the one getting beat up.”

“I remember that! You were shrieking,” Quinn giggled, “and I almost fell off the roof of the library.”

“Well you would’ve had some nice wet boxes to break your fall since they just threw out their cardboard.”

**Gray always wanted to be a superhero, but he doesn’t have superpowers—and isn’t a rich guy like Batman—so he wants to be a journalist who tracks superheroes. Ever since I started fighting crime in the city, Gray’s been wanting to come with me so he has things to report on.**

Quinn pulled on their hoodie and slung their duffel bag over their shoulder. They tightened it over their chest and gave Gray the key to the locked truck at the foot of their bed.

“Just in case.” Quinn said.

“Just in case.” Gray replied.

“The bus is going in like ten minutes, so we should get down there.”

Gray nodded, strapping his own backpack onto his shoulders and buckling the strap across his chest. He put his hands on his hips in a power stance. “Let’s go!”

Gray and Quinn sat at the bus stop down and across the street from their dorm building and waited patiently for the bus.

“I always say—”

“Don’t say it then—”

“You could always just—”

“No—”

“Swing off the buildings and I could hold onto your legs or something—”

“No!”

“Why not?” Gray whined.

“We’ve been over this: if you’re holding onto my legs, you might get hit by something like a flag pole or a mailbox or something because having extra weight throws off my center of gravity. I don’t want you getting hurt any more than is the lowest bound of risk for a photojournalist.”

Gray groaned and slumped over. “You’re so mean.”

“No, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get sliced in half by a telephone pole.”

“That so wouldn’t happen!” Gray laughed boisterously.

“It might! That’s why I’m not letting you hold onto me while I’m up there!”

**I’m always worried about him. He’s my best friend. Some nights when I think something is too dangerous, I dictate text updates to my Frankenstein Phone so he can do a livestream broadcast from someplace safe. The Frankenstein Phone is something somebody in my computer science class helped me make. I can dictate text updates and we can talk to each other through an earpiece, sometimes, when I remember where I left mine last. It’s got limited GPS capability, just a dictation feature, an automatic send feature, a connection to both of our earpieces, and a clock and calendar. It also has a failsafe feature that, if Gray sends a message with a specific phrase and I don’t respond, he gets coordinates of where I am and the best way to get to me. He’s never had to use it before. Part of me is always scared that if he does, he won’t like what he finds.**

“I hope it doesn’t rain.” Quinn mused. “I’m a lot of things, but waterproof isn’t one of them.”

Gray gave a noise of understanding as they walked closer to the curb and boarded the bus when it stopped. There was rarely anybody on this route this late at night. Everyone was already where they needed to be. They were quiet on the bus ride there, with Quinn looking out the window at the brownstones that passed by and different, brightly lit billboards. They thought about what their mother would be doing about this time. Probably throwing a few more shirts and pairs of socks into the dryer before sitting down to watch reruns of Leah Remini’s docuseries, checking up on them by leaving a message perhaps. If not, she was probably crocheting.

When the bus came to a slow stop, Gray and Quinn got off the bus and started up the wrong direction at the corner before turning around and going the right way. They ended up at the back door of Hieronymus, a gay bar they liked to hang out at on days when either of them had the time to leave their apartment between homework and jobhunting. They greeted comedians and signers performing at the club that night before stopping at a door with a golden glitter star with “Spiderman” written across it in shiny fuschia vinyl. They made their separate ways at the curtain hanging from the ceiling that divided the room between Quinn and Gray, for Quinn to change into their suit and for Gray to, “make himself up for the cameras, the lights are too white to be complimentary for my complexion,” as he put it.

Quinn pulled the curtain back and pulled their mask on. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, just a second.” Gray picked up his round lens, wire frame glasses and carefully put them on over beautifully colored eyelids.

“Ooh, burgundy is a nice color on you! You look very good in jewel tones.”

“Thank you!” Gray rubbed the pad of his finger over a stick of blush and rubbed it into the apples of his cheeks. “I also got this nice blush stick, it came with last month’s Birchbox.”

“Is that where you got that nice peel off face mask?”

“Yeah! It really brightens your face without like, _lightening_ your face, you know?”

“For sure, I hate when people say a product brightens your skin, but all it really is is glorified skin bleach. Like, if I wanted to get bleach on myself on purpose, I’d clean my bathroom drunk.”

Gray chuckled, he remembered that evening. An over ambitious Quinn was already three-fourths of the way into a Long Island iced tea when they had the bright idea to clean the grout between their bathroom tiles. He dove back into his makeup bag, one that Quinn had handmade and gifted him for his last birthday and took out a small highlighter palette. There was a depression in the center with the bottom of the pot shining through. He touched a finger not already pink, warm gray, or beige and gingerly rubbed a golden highlighter just underneath his blush.

“Perfect. All right, let’s rock and roll.”

Quinn started to snicker. “Like the dad meme?”

“Of course! Living like a dad in a dad meme is the only way to live deliciously.”

There was a beat of silence before both of them broke and finally started howling with laughter.

“Oh, one more thing! The birthday gift I bought you finally came.” Gray reached into a paper package in his backpack and handed it to Quinn. “Open it! I want video.” Gray picked up his phone and started to film.

Quinn scraped their nails down the paper to tear it off, and revealed a shoebox. “Oh, cool! I needed new shoes.” They opened the box and found inside a pair of custom Nike high tops, with a plastic holographic siding, two-toned pink leather, teal laces, and aqua soles. “Oh my god! They’re so ugly, I love them!” Quinn threw their arms around Gray and quickly started to untie their Doc Martens to put the shoes on. “New boot goofin’. Let’s go.”

Gray attached a lapel mic to the tail of his scarf and walked out to a waiting small camera crew of fellow club patrons and workers. Quinn exited with their mask on and went backstage to meet with the other performers to introduce a new class of resident artists like up and coming drag queens or queer comedians from the neighborhood. Sometimes they even had small improv shows, Quinn thought they were pretty funny.

“Camera one? Camera one, okay.” Gray held up a microphone and stood by the doors of the club to give his weekend report of the nightlife in the community. He felt it was an underserved segment of news. “Hi, everyone! I’m Gray, inside Hieronymus for Debutante Night, a night where junior performers come to introduce themselves and do a collective showcase of their acts. But it’s not only performers who are up on stage tonight, we also have a friendly neighborhood crime fighter who’s been chosen by popular vote to kick off the festivities. Let’s watch.”

The camera trained on Gray cut to the camera set up in the corner to watch the stage. Quinn timidly walked into the soft spotlight holding a stage microphone and waved.

“Hi, guys! I’m so happy to be here tonight!” They paused for the rapturous applause before continuing. “We have a great bill of performers tonight, you’re gonna love the show. Uh… I also have to say there’s a two drink minimum, which is gonna be pretty hard since I raided the bar of all its pineapple juice before I came out here.” They chuckled along with the laughter of the crowd. “But seriously, it’s an honor to be here and as much as you all know I _love_ to hog the limelight, I’ll hand it over to senior performer and tonight’s program director Crema Limon for—”

The ground beneath the stage started to rumble and a strange force started to pull from behind Quinn. Before the moment could pass, Gray gestured for his mic to be turned on and he dashed to the corner camera to commentate. Meanwhile, Quinn was trying to clear people off the stage and get the people sitting in the closest tables somewhere safe and out of the pull of whatever was opening behind them. When they turned, they saw jumbling atoms and an interruption in the brick wall backing the concrete slab stage. It was almost as though some sort of hole were opening, with a powerful force that threatened to suck them inside. When the hole expanded, Quinn tried to gesture for people to flee in any opposite direction.

“Everybody needs to get out! Now!”

A performer from the side of the stage tried to reason with them. “But what about—”

“Forget about me! Just get everyone out!” Quinn waved them off and tried to dodge tables and chairs flying at them and being sucked into the widening gyre.

When they were knocked off their feet and nearly swallowed whole, they quickly flicked out their wrists and shot webs at the wall to keep themselves anchored in some way.

Without his knowledge, Gray’s feet started to move toward the quickly emptied dining area and before he realized he was running toward them and throwing his arms around them to give them more force against the pull.

“What the hell is happening?” He shouted.

“I don’t know! It just—It just opened!” When one of the lengths of web broke, they tried to cling to the remaining one but feared that wouldn’t hold out either. “Naris!”

“What?”

“Just do me one favor!”

“What is it?”

“I need you to…” Quinn tried to keep back a dam of tears that threatened to spill over in the inevitable event that their web broke, “I need you to tell my mom I’ll be okay!” 

Gray couldn’t parse why Quinn would have asked him to do that, not now. He was so certain that the hole would just close up once it swallowed enough furniture and stage lights. He was so certain everything would be fine. In the middle of his muddled reasoning, there was a couple of soft _thuds_ , almost as if he'd been struck with something. He felt a pain radiate through his leg and into his chest and couldn't shake it off. Just like that, Quinn was slipping from his arms and being lifted off the ground. It was like everything was happening, but nothing was happening. He was frozen still with his arms empty and waiting as Quinn fell into the void and after the void quickly fizzled shut. Gray didn’t even feel the sudden whoosh of air that surrounded him as the force of the void dissipated, the paramedics who rushed him out of the room once police deemed it safe to enter, his legs carrying him over to the cameras, or the words I want to go live. leave his lips. He stood in front of the camera in a blanket with a micrphone in one hand, and the edge of the blanket clutched in the other. To thousands of viewers at the school watching on their various devices or parents tuning in at home on their local channel, he was just a scared kid tossed in front of the camera while the ticker along the bottom read: SPIDERMAN MISSING, WITNESSES BAFFLED BY “HOLE IN THE WALL.” The ringing in his ears finally subsided when the producer said his name and got his attention. But when he looked into the camera lens and caught a glimpse of his reflection, he was gone.

“I—I _had them_! They just—I just— _I couldn’t hold on_!” Gray crumbled and started to heave. “It—It—” He could barely finish what he wanted to say. _It was too strong_. A producer reached out a hand to gently guide him off camera, but he tried to stand his ground in front of the cameras. In the end, he couldn't do it. "I can't. I’m done. Turn it off.”

The cameras went to the student news desk, where reporters were trying to make out the solemn news amongst Gray’s fractured delivery. When the streets were dead, and the cameras turned off, Gray returned to their apartment with their duffel bag and all their things to find Quinn’s mother, Olive, waiting at their doorstep. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He ran into her arms and sobbed with her, dropping the bags on the creaky wooden floor and sending the house keys clattering to the ground. Spiderman was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do.


	2. Nuveau New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Quinn falls deeper into the rift in space time, Gray tries to track them down and ends up creating a lot more questions than he's able to answer.

Before they knew it, Quinn was slamming head first into a brightly lit ad for Koca-Soda—whatever that was—and falling to the ground below. When they were able to get their bearings, they looked down the main fairway of Thames Square.

 

**Okay. I’m in New York, still. That’s good.**

They turned to where they expected the McDonaugh’s to be—and since they were standing downwind of the grandstands perpetually set up for Brian Seagram’s New Year’s Eve celebration, it should be to their left—and it _was_ there, but not there at the same time. It had the same golden arches, the same dazzling lights, the same line out the door and past the Forever 20-to-1—or, they guessed now it was Forever XXII—but it was called McDougal’s. _McDougal’s_ , of all things.

 

**Or not. That’s bad.**

 

Quinn thought that since they were a landmark navigator, it would be easy to get around in this same-but-different place. When they tried to head in the direction of Bronwen—Broadway—they looked up to see a broadcast of INN—or, they guessed now it was BNN—declaring Spiderman dead, at the age of 26. He was white, blond, blue eyed, and… a _guy_. He was married to a woman named Mary Jane with red hair and a squarish chin, and an Aunt May with gray hair and a golden locket. Both were pictured beside a statement released by BNN for the broadcast.

 

**Who the hell is _that_? **

A man behind them pushed their shoulder and they fell forward. “Hey, man, too soon!”

“What?” They got up and tried to reflexively brush themself off. “What are you talking about?”

“He _just_ died! And you’re out here prancing around in his costume! Shame on you!” When the man tried to lunge at them again, they caught his arm and held him there while a small crowd began to gather with the commotion.

“So… Spiderman is dead.”

“Yeah,” the man replied, his throat suddenly constricted with fear, “he-he’s dead.”

Quinn was slowly starting to piece together some very improbable pieces. “I just found out. I just got here.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I—”

“You’re not. But that’s fine. Just don’t do it again.” Quinn set him back on his feet before walking toward the paved street, where a passing bus and a crowd of hopeful passengers gave them the cover to quickly swing up to the roof of the… _McDougal’s_. Their white suit with black and gold accents allowed them to blend in while they looked down.

They saw yet another Spiderman wandering into the Main Window—Main Screen. He had on a khaki coat, gray sweatpants, mask slightly askew and barefoot.

 

**Oof. Me too, buddy.**

 

But instead of trying to get to high ground to stay hidden amongst some apparently very angry mourners, he just wandered toward Center Park.

Quinn made a note of it through the Bluetooth earpiece they hoped still worked, trying to be quiet.

“Spiderman A arrives 11:00 PM. Khaki trench, gray sweatpants, no shoes. Walks toward Center Park.”

They lamented leaving the Frankenstein Phone back at home on their couch. They didn’t think they would have needed it, had that void not opened up and thrown them into some weird, same-but-different version of New York.

Quinn stayed like that up on the roof, watching to see if more replicate Spidermen would come meandering through Thames Square—Tyne Square. More did. They wondered how people were more astonished at the Spiderman clad in a black trench coat and fedora that somehow looked as though he jumped out of a 1920s film strip than at the girl and her very large, seemingly sentient robot. With each one, their skin tingled and overlapping whispers bounced against the walls of their skull over and over again. When the last iteration appeared, the girl with the robot, the whispers found a collective wavelength.

 

_Follow her._

 

**Adult life is already so goddamn weird, this may as well happen.**

 

* * *

 

            While Quinn followed the robot and the girl, Gray sat alone in the library listlessly trying to finish a personal journal for his Advanced Chinese class. He barely found the energy to pull his phone from his laptop sleeve and check his new text messages.

 

            _You have a new message from FP._

 

He was immediately confused. The only time that he’d have a message from the Frankenstein Phone would be if Quinn had dictated an update. He tapped the banner notification and plugged in his earbuds to listen to the audio message.

           

            _Spiderman A arrives 11:00 PM—gray sweatpants—toward Center Park_.

 

That was Quinn’s voice. This was from 11:01 PM the same night. It was nearly 11:30 now. He debated finishing his homework before running home to check if this was real or if it was just a glitch. Maybe Quinn hadn’t even touched the audio transponder, and this was just a repeat of something they’d dictated days or even weeks before. He elected to scribble out the last few characters of the sentence he was working on—it was good enough—and pack up before running out and trying to schedule a quick Lyft home to their apartment. He hated the thought of walking in and not finding a recent trace of them there, but it was the only way he would know for sure.

 

* * *

 

 

            Quinn followed alongside the younger girl and her massive robot, swinging and hopping from rooftop to rooftop. They tried to stay low to the roofline and utilize the fading of the colorful lights into dim streetlights as this duplicate neared a growing group of others. The growing shrine of tall white candles, flowers and portraits of this universe’s Spiderman gave them pause. They understood that man’s outrage. This Peter Parker was admired, revered. He was loved. They watched as the gray-haired woman from the news broadcast, Peter’s Aunt May, opened the door and had some kind of short conversation before stepping aside and letting them enter. The robot, however, had to enter through a side gate.

 

**Understandable. He’s a tall boy.**

 

They went to dictate another update through their transcriber before a sharp ringing tore through their skull. They felt like they were being pulled to pieces in every direction all at once. Their vision would break and reform, fuzzy and fractured. They were so focused on getting it to stop that they tipped right over the roof of the house they were standing on. They hit the snowpack below and once the ringing and pulling stopped, they saw the same older woman standing over them.

            “I can always set out some pizza rolls for one more person, if you’re interested.”

            “Yes. Please,” was all Quinn could muster while she helped them up.

           

            “So, the others here tell me they didn’t even pick you up after you were trailing them this whole time.” Said May knowingly, sitting down with a plate of warm cookies she thawed from a tray pre-made in her freezer.

            “Yeah, that’s kind of my thing, I guess.” Quinn replied, pulling off their mask, “Nobody really hears me coming.”

            “What’s that on your wrist?” She asked.

            Quinn looked to the side and spotted the silver chain with a hand painted domino hanging from a link. “Oh, it’s a domino my sister painted. It was part of a set my uncle Mayo gave us and we didn’t find it until after, um,” Quinn averted their gaze from the other Spiderfolk to the periwinkle pile of May’s carpet.  “Quite a while later.” They wanted so desperately to change the subject. “So did everyone else fly out of the same rift in space time I did, or did someone get a Luft?”

            “… A what?” Asked the younger girl, who introduced herself as Peni.

            “Y’know, like, ride sharing.”

            “ _Oh_ , you mean Left.”

            Quinn was confused for a minute before they started to continue to put together some more very improbable pieces. “Yeah… I guess I do.” The thought process was still splayed across their face as they answered.

            “Where’d you get that slice on your eyebrow, kid?” Asked Noir.

            “Oh, that’s from when I was little. A kid tripped me during show and tell and I took a header into a table.”

            The group collectively winced.

            “I mean, it wasn’t _bad_. It was just messy. I only had half an eyebrow until like, my junior year in high school.” Quinn looked down at the domino charm again. All those memories started to creep in at the edge of their consciousness. They crossed their arms into each other to avoid having to look at it. At least for a moment.

            “So does anyone have any idea what the heck we’re all doin’ here?” Asked Peter—Peter Porker—while he politely scooted aside the small plate of pizza rolls, with pepperoni and sausage.

            “Well, we know we all came through some rift in space time.” Quinn replied.

            Peni quickly pulled a tablet out of her backpack. “And it appears that we’re all rapidly becoming more and more unstable. Unless we do something about it soon, we could all cease to exist.”

            “That tracks.” Quinn murmured in response.

            Noir sat on the couch intently listening. Quinn guessed that the juxtaposition of a giant semi-sentient robot and someone from an era pre-dating some of the best science fiction involving robots required a bit of adjustment.

           

* * *

  

            Gray tried to make his way up to his production office to set aside a certain portion of the week’s broadcasts to give the waiting public updates on Spiderman’s whereabouts when he found a large crowd clogging the hallway.

            He tapped someone on the very outskirts of the crowd on the shoulder. “What’s going on here?”

            “We’re trying to get updates on Spiderman.”

            “Oh, great! That’s what I’m here for!” Gray immediately snuck past the people and successfully managed to punch the keycode in and slip into the office before anyone could storm in. Luckily, the office was empty, save for the video editor quietly napping on her desk.

            He used a spare lightning cable to connect his phone to the computer and promptly got to work trying to decipher the entirety of the audio messages he’d received. He wasn’t sure he was entirely correct in thinking Quinn was describing multiple duplicates of themself. But as he listened to each file and filtered out the interference, that was indeed what they were describing.

           

_Spiderman A arrives 11:00 PM. Khaki trench, gray sweatpants, no shoes. Walks toward Center Park._

_Spiderman B arrives 11:15 PM. Fedora, black trench… some kind of inexplicable breeze. Walks down 7th before turning back toward Center Park._

_Spiderman C arrives 11:45 PM. Hood, suit, ballet flats. Oh, that’s a LOOK! Damn. A Look and a half._

_Spiderman D arrives—Oh fuck, that’s a big robot. Uh, shit, 11:20? Yeah. School uniform, backpack, giant robot. They’re all going the same way, it’s fine, I’ll remember._

_12:15 AM and no other duplicates… Spiderpeople? Spidermen? Spiderfolk. No other Spiderfolk sighted, pursuing on foot toward Center Park. Or, I guess, Centré Park. I mean,            there’s no accent. But it’s spelled that stupid British way. I don’t even know if these are going through, but if they do, you’ll know what I mean._

_Spiderfolk have arrived at residence of Peter Parker’s aunt, May. There’s… there’s a lot of candles and drawings outside of her house._

_She’s letting them in, will—Ow! What the fuck! Augh!_

Gray cringed at the feedback overlapping with the interference, and decided to use audio points to tone down the volume of that section of audio. He wondered what was going on, wherever Quinn was. When he took off the headphones, students were still gathered outside the door. He sighed in frustration and decided to throw them a bone by scribbling a message onto a piece of scratch paper—an over toned Xerox of his student activity advisor’s syllabus for another class—and sliding it under the door for the students to find. He had a lot of work to do before delivering on the promise he scribbled on that paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's almost 200 views on this? I'm amazed? Thank you all so much!


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